


Such a Good Friend

by oddgit



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Episode: s05e13 Return 0, Hurt/Comfort, I literally cried on my keyboard, John Reese's funeral, Military Funeral, Missing Scene, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 20:38:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7860274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddgit/pseuds/oddgit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was a chilly fall morning in November when Harold awoke to his alarm buzzing. He slowly and carefully lifted himself up from the bed, the cold fall weather was hell on his neck and back and the bullet that entered his stomach a week earlier did not help. He had been dreading this day, the day he had to say goodbye to such a good friend."</p><p>Comments and Feedback are greatly appreciated! I have never attended a military funeral so all I could do was consult google and youtube. M_E_Lover had some military connections so she helped out with some of the details, but please if you see something wrong, point it out and I will change it.  Thanks :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such a Good Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Requested on twitter, "Need a fic where Harold sets up a full military honors funeral for John. Please and Thanks." 
> 
> Shout out and special thanks to M_E_Lover for the beta! :)

The world and its population was recovering from the chaotic internet crash due to the employment of the ICE-9 virus. Well most of the world. Three of those people were recovering from the loss of two immensely precious friends. Which on a personal level was much worse than the internet crashing. Harold had sought out and received care for his gunshot wound, and  he was staying at one of the safe houses he still had access to in the city. He had planned on returning to Grace, but he had to do something first. He had to honor the life… the sacrifice… of John Reese. There wasn’t much he could do for Root after Samaritan took her body, but he could do this one thing for John… after John had done so much for him over the years it was the just and right thing to do. He hadn’t slept much since that day, and when he did he’d wake up screaming John’s name. When he left the private care facility he managed to hack into the US army’s database… from a very discrete hotel in Queens right before he abandoned it of course… and set up a military funeral with full honors for his friend.

#

It was a chilly fall morning in November when Harold awoke to his alarm buzzing. He slowly and carefully lifted himself up from the bed, the cold fall weather was hell on his neck and back and the bullet that entered his stomach a week earlier did not help. He had been dreading this day, the day he had to say goodbye to _such a good friend_. Before this day he had somehow managed to convince himself that John would come back. That he’d just imagined that fateful day he lost his partner and he would just pop in on him and tell him he was alive. But today was different, he had always told himself he wouldn’t get attached to the amazing the man he had hired. That all they would be was workplace acquaintances.  But that mindset quickly faded the night he rescued Reese from the parking garage with the CIA coming after them. They had become best friends. John was the only person that Harold had actually trusted in a very long time. And his doubts about John not feeling the same were quickly answered after everything he had done to keep Harold out of danger. Even if he had any doubts after that, when John was on that rooftop sacrificing himself to payback Harold for giving him a purpose… he knew that he had felt the same way. He was angry for a few days after. Angry at John for doing it, angry at the machine for allowing him to. The anger faded into acceptance… but he had a hollow, haunting feeling deep in his gut that when he saw John’s coffin lowered into the ground… the acceptance might go away.

Harold got in the shower and put on his suit. It was one of his many three piece suits. But when he put it on, he was taken back to the memories of detective Carter’s funeral. It was the same suit he had worn on that horrible day. Standing far away watching with Ms. Shaw. The memories of him pulling John back from the brink of complete destruction that day flooded back to him as well. _This isn’t our purpose… we save lives… you save lives…_ The words stuck in Harold’s thoughts and mind and in the end…that’s what John died doing, and he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. _I think all you ever wanted to do was help people._

#

Harold sat in his car in the parking lot for a long while. He found himself wishing that he would have told Ms. Shaw or Detective Fusco about John’s fate. They deserved to know, but even more so Harold didn’t want to go through this alone. It had been five years since he had been completely alone and he hated it. He had always been a bit of a recluse… but ever since that chilly fateful day he met John he had gradually changed. Lost in his thoughts… Harold didn’t even notice the slight knocking on his window…

“Hey glasses you okay in there?” It was detective Fusco.

“D…detective???” Harold thought he was imagining things.

Fusco opened the car door and motioned for Harold to get out. “You got to see this.”

“Wh …what are you talking about? How are you here? How did you know?” Finch was still so confused.

“Well, Shaw and I got a call from a Thornhill… telling us what happened to John and well when this thing was and...” Fusco paused…Finch could tell the loss of his partner who he had grown so close with was hurting him _._ Harold’s mind drifted to the first time he met Lionel _… Why? Are you worried about him detective?_ Fusco’s voice brought Finch back. “I guess we’re not the only ones who got a call either…” Fusco stepped out of the way exposing the crowd of people standing below them on the bottom of the hill.

“What… who…” Harold staggered forward to look closer at the people standing below him waiting for John’s funeral to start… then he recognized a face… it was Dr. Megan Tillman, one of the very first numbers he and John helped together. Then he saw another face… Logan Pierce… and then he saw a couple sitting together with a child… it was Mr. and Mrs. Drake. The couple John had managed to save from killing each other. And of course there was Leon, their only repeat number. Face after face Harold recognized all of them. A warmth built up inside him for the first time in weeks and then his phone rang…

“Hey Harry…”

“I… How did you…” Finch thought he was dreaming.

“I knew you wouldn’t want to say goodbye to the big guy alone. So I sent out a few calls… I hope you don’t mind…”

“Thank you.” Harold whispered, choked up as he hung up the phone.

“Well…” Harold took a deep breath… “Shall we detective?” he said putting his hand on Fusco’s back.

They made their way down the hill and to the sight where John was to be laid to rest. Harold saw the row of empty chairs in front that were usually reserved for family. Shaw was making her way over to them and she had Zoe with her.

“Ms. Morgan…” Harold sighed… “I’m sorry.” He knew John and Zoe had always been close. They were even a thing for a while. She smiled back at him and gave him a hug.

“We all knew this was how it would end Harold. Even John. He always had a soft spot for his Finch.”

They made their way over to the front row of chairs… realizing and accepting that they were all a part of John’s family. The funeral started and the music started to play. Harold watched as the casket was lifted from the hearse by six Honor Guards in full dress uniform… they lifted it to rest on the bier that would transport it to the gravesite and the US flag was already draped over the top. Everyone stood up and watched as they moved towards the grave. Harold looked over to see Zoe with tears in her eyes. But what really got him was when he looked at Shaw. She had been known for not showing outward signs of emotion, she was born that way, it wasn’t her fault… but when he saw one stray tear stream down her face… it hit him like a semi-truck. His own tears started to flow down his cheeks. The casket passed in front of them and the six soldiers then moved it above the earthen tomb it would soon be lowered into. Their every move was so precise and smooth, they reminded him of John. Another wonderful soulful military song started to play, two of the other soldiers that weren’t moving the casket stood by and saluted. Shaw lifted her arm up to salute as well as Joey Durban, another one of the first numbers they had saved.  The music halted... they lifted the American flag that had draped the casket and held it above it. Seven more men stood away from the crowd, another man stood behind them.

“Firing party, fire 3-volley….” The man behind them yelled.

“Ready… aim… fire…”

“Bang.” Harold flinched and closed his eyes. He hated the sound, so many times when had he heard that sound through his ear piece, John always at the wrong end of it. _You there Finch? Always Mr. Reese._ He heard the gunshots 2 more times. Each time he winced and closed his eyes. Then a man in uniform with a trumpet appeared. He started to play Taps. This was the point when Harold couldn’t control the tears. They were running down his face and he could not stop them no matter how hard he tried. It had finally truly hit him that John was in that casket. That his best friend was about to be put into the ground. _You think anyone will care for us after we’re dead Finch?_ “Look at you now John, look how many people care for you… how many people you saved…” Harold thought to himself as the trumpet player stopped and everyone sat down. His breathing quickened… The men holding the flag started to fold it and Harold’s heart dropped into his stomach. “No. Please no.” everything was moving so fast. He was quickly starting to realize he might not be able to see John lowered into the ground without completely losing it. The anxiety was building in his chest when he saw the uniformed soldier start to walk over to him to hand him the flag. He knelt down on one knee and extended the flag to Harold.

“On behalf of the President of the United States and the people of a grateful nation, may I present you with this flag as a token of appreciation for the honorable and faithful service your loved one has rendered this nation.” Harold was shaking. He knew when he took the flag that it meant John would be gone… _If you meant something to someone, if you helped someone, loved someone… if even a single person remembers you… then maybe you never really die…_ Harold snapped out of it and accepted the flag. John helped so many people, he would never be forgotten. The man stood up and saluted Harold then turned and walked away with the other uniformed men. They all turned around and saluted the casket one last time. Soon Harold heard the sound of Amazing Grace coming from a lone bagpiper that signaled to him that it was over. Everyone stood and Harold got up and started to make his way to the casket. He counted the steps… he had no idea why… maybe he was just trying to take his mind off of what was actually happening… with every step he took the fear creeped into him even more, wrapping  and strangling him and for a moment he felt  as if he had forgotten how to breathe. When he was standing in front of John… he sat his hand down on top of the casket…

“I… Mr. Reese... John…” He felt the tears start to stream down his face again and he felt his whole body start to tremble. He realized that everything he wanted to say… John had already known. He patted the lid of the casket one last time and saw one of his tears splash onto the hardwood. When he turned around… he saw just exactly how much these people had cared for John because every single one of them stood there with tears in their eyes. None of them had left. They all wanted to pay their final respects to the man in the suit who had saved their lives. One by one everyone walked up to shake Harold’s hand and pay their respects to John. Pretty soon all that remained was Harold, Shaw and Fusco. They stood there limp, watching as John was lowered into the ground. Fusco broke the silence finally…

“How many people you think he saved?”

“Well… let’s say 6 a week for 5 years… almost 400 people.” Finch replied softly.

“Forget Superman… I’ll take John Reese.” Fusco whispered back thinking of all the times Reese had saved him. He was the first to walk over to the once empty grave that now held their friend, “I meant it Wonder boy. Because of you… I’m a better man, a better father… I…” he felt a lump in his throat. “Thank you John.” He knelt down and pulled something out of his pocket… it was the cop bobble head doll... he dropped it into the grave along with a fist full of dirt. “You don’t need this to keep an eye on me anymore… tell Carter hi for me.” He made his way back over to Shaw and Harold clearing his throat.

Shaw was next. Even though she hated sappy stuff like this… she felt like she had too. “This isn’t my thing John… but you know that… so… bye…” she tossed a hand full of dirt in as well  

Harold didn’t move. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t. He felt his knees start to go weak and his hands were shaking. He felt a hand on his back and looked over to see Fusco. “It’s okay Finch. He’d understand if you can’t.”

“No… I have too… just give me a moment…” Finch took a deep breath in and let it out as he started limping forward. “John…” he broke down. His legs gave out and he was hunched over balling like a baby. The sobs that were coming out refused to stop, his throat and chest aching. “This wasn’t supposed to be the way! I don’t want you to leave!” He felt a hand on his shoulder and expected to turn around to see either Fusco or Shaw… but he didn’t. _I’ll stick around… keep an eye on you_. He got control of himself and forced himself up. “Thank you John.” He tossed in the last handful of dirt and turned around to Fusco and Shaw... his face was soaked with dried tears.

“You okay Finch?” Fusco asked.

He sighed… “I am now.”

 


End file.
